


The brightest sun

by worldinviolet



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Drama & Romance, Emotional Healing, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Poisoning, Sister-Sister Relationship, Step-siblings, Strong Female Characters, Thomas Sharpe Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-08 11:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldinviolet/pseuds/worldinviolet
Summary: "We will miss you señorita... greatly" the housekeeper could no longer keep still. She let out a sad moaning sound while letting go of her wrinkled apron and stepped forward. Her chubby arms wrapped around Amelia's waist and hugged her tightly."I'll miss you too... I'll miss Dolores... and this place" she absentmindedly stroke the woman's back "Buy wait... Ana, who says I won't come back?""Oh... Señorita, old women like me know... when their children won't come back in a long, long time." She lifts her wrinkled hand and caresses Amelia's cheek. She leans into the touch."Ms. Cushing, we'll be late for the train!"The young woman says a last goodbye before going into the carriage. As it leaves, the yellow dirt picks up and blocks the sight of the place she has called home for the last 5 years.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Everyone! So here's the thing. 
> 
> I'm a little obsessed with crimson peak. The plot is great, the story good, the end sour. My forever optimist-self thought... there had to be a way to make things better and so I started writing. This has been a draft for a month... square and AO3 will delete it if I don't man up and post it. I'm loaded with work and the walking dead fanfic... but I have to confess I'm a sucker for historical romance and I want to give this one a chance. 
> 
> So... as the summary entails, Edith Cushing has a sister. But where was she this past 5 years?... why is she coming back?.... what will all of this entail?
> 
> A crimson peak AU, where Edith has a sister that so happens to get a fancy on a quiet but charming Sharpe.

 

 

A little chuckle escapes her lips, their corners form a contented smile. Closing her eyes.. she gives a contented exhale of air and, when she opens them again, there is a spark of love and tenderness behind them. She puts the letter down, folds it carefully, and leaves it inside a small chest of ornated wood. The chest in question rests inside an open balize. With a swift move, she closes the colossal rectangle and tights the straps that go around it. As if on cue, Juan appears on the entrance of her room. Those long years have done nothing to change the habit of knocking on the wall and giving the room the back. Amelia smiles...

"You can enter Juan," she allows and only at that moment, the man turns around and goes inside. His taciturn demeanor and eternal frown might have scared or intimidated many women away. At first, when she met him, she was tempted to do the same; but she was glad she didn't ... the man was what people would call a 'gentle giant'. He grabbed the balize and then moved to also take an oval shaped case... the one that belonged to the violin. 

"Oh.. I'll take that one," Amelia piped in and hurried to cradle the case in her arms with care. The servant made a face and took the balize downstairs, Amelia close behind him. 

 

 

"I still don't understand" After a moment of silence, he grunted, and Amelia hid a smile behind the black case. 

"Well... It's about time I go back. Father and sister miss me greatly and there's... of course, the weather. I better leave now before the heavy summer rains say otherwise" she commented with a 'matter of fact' tone. Juan grunted again... she supposed she gave a good argument. Deep inside Amelia wished she didn't have that many excuses. But it was easier, either way, to think of this as a welcome change... and not a sad ending. 

"And yet you said... you still had job to do" 

"Well... most of it involves a desk and a chair more than anything else... Either way," She hesitated "Juan, has.. has Dolores come around today?" her voice became a soft whisper. The man said nothing for a long couple of minutes... then, they reached the end of the stairs, and before he walked to the front door and to the carriage he turned to answer. Amelia schooled her features, for she was taken aback by the look of sadness he had shared with her. 

"She stayed on her room all morning, she won't come out." With that, Juan walked outside, leaving Amelia alone. 

 

She caressed the soft material of the violin's case absentmindedly, her face an unusual mixture of emotion and nonchalance. With a silent puff of air, she decided to use that time instead to give a last look at the manor. It has been five years... Five years in which she has gotten used to this ranch vibe. A certain austerity on the look off otherwise a mansion as good and as sumptuous as any other. She had to admit she had come used to the light colored woods, the exotic feathers and vases that decorated the rooms, the white clay and painted the walls made of stone and brick, of the numerous hunt trophies and the large stone-clobbered chimneys. For five years she has lived between yellows, greens, purples, and oranges... between fields and farms, between woods and jungles. But as she just said, it was time to leave. After all, in her mind, this place had a purpose... and she wished to believe it had been accomplished. 

 

With a sense of calm finality, she walked outside. There, three maids and the housekeeper were waiting for her. Juan took the violin of her hands. Smiling, she walked forward and said her goodbyes to the first three. When she arrived in front of the round and merry housekeeper, her smile widened... but her brows furrowed. 

"My Anita" she greeted.

"We will miss you _señorita_... greatly" the housekeeper could no longer keep still. She let out a sad moaning sound while letting go of her wrinkled apron and stepped forward. Her chubby arms wrapped around Amelia's waist and hugged her tightly.

Amelia let out a shuddering breath, her own arms going around the smaller woman; without a second thought, her nose buried on the short grey curls and she inhaled deeply... a strange mix of caramel onions, cinnamon, and orchids that she had grown to associate with safety and comfort.

"I'll miss you too... I'll miss Dolores... I'll miss this place" she absentmindedly stroke the woman's back "Buy wait... Ana, Are you crying? Don't be so distraught... Who says I won't come back?" She asked with a lighter tone, not at all comfortable with the other woman's distress.

"Oh... _Señorita_ , old women like me know... when their children won't come back in a long, long time." She lifts her wrinkled hand and caresses Amelia's cheek. She leans into the touch.

"Ms. Cushing, we'll be late for the train!"

The young woman says a last goodbye before going into the carriage. As it leaves, the yellow dirt picks up after them. Amelia looks through the window, her head slightly out of the carriage. The sight of the manor is replaced by meters and meters of tobacco fields. Beyond their yellowish green color, she can see a bright green river forming in the distance. The tropical jungle looks massive... the real king of that far away land. Over its trees, the song of parrots and birds reaches her ears. Amelia closes her eyes, trying to remember by memory that entrancing sound. A shiver runs from her arms to the rest of her body, her heart accelerates... she opens her eyes one more time, but her vision is blurred by a wall of common trees, the jungle forest disappears behind it. With a sigh, she goes inside the carriage again and turns her attention to the interior. Beside her rests the violin and a small suitcase. Her fingers trace the ornamented lace and leather. She opens the case and from inside, she pulls out a small book. She positions it between her hands, her eyes rest over the side of the closed pages. Then, like a flower, her hands open and the book does as well, revealing a dried white rose between its pages. Her gloved fingertips barely caress the delicate flower, then they travel to the corner, turning the page. Behind it rests an old photo. Amelia pulls it out of the worn book and she examines it with an impassive face.  As many times before, she struggles about what to do with it. Finally, her emotions break free... her eyebrows furrow and her eyes water. Realizing her outburst she blinks the tears away, looking again to the window. Only after half an hour... she decides to look back again and guard the book on her suitcase again. 

 

 

"Here we are, Ms. Cushing. The train station" 

Amelia looks through the window. Sheltered from the sun that she has otherwise welcomed before. With a sigh, she goes for the door. The coach man opens it and helps her outside. She stretched her numb limbs and frowns at the sudden burst of noise that she had somehow managed to tune out on the way there. Vera Cruz was a city of constant movement, and after the dangerous times only a decade ago, the city seemed to persist and flourish. The coach extends Amelia her umbrella... open, and she takes her almost against her will. A young teenager runs over at his request. The child had dusty brown pants that seemed already too small for him, his lanky legs showing. 

"Bring your  _papá_ , there is at least three large baggages back there, all of them to the train to New York" he orders, with a smile the child runs away. Five minutes later, a man on his forties and another on his early twenties come over and give Amelia a short courtesy. 

"It's been a pleasure Miss Amelia" The coach said, turning to her and bowing deepely. 

"Vladimir, it's been my pleasure too," she said, pulling a couple of coins from her purse "I'll miss our escapades good friend"

"I'll miss you bribing me with fine chocolate Amelia" he whispered and took the coins, not before turning her hand and kissing the back. Amelia couldn't hold her laugh and she waved her hand as the carriage drove away. When it turned the corner, she turned around and walked over the entrance of the train station.

"Ah, yes Miss Amelia Cushing. Your luggage is being loaded" commented the machinist. Just as he said that the child reappeared out of nowhere. 

"Thank you Sir, I'll board shortly," she said with a smile and the man turned to look behind him. The child tugged his pockets nervous and the man left with a sneer on his mouth. When he was gone, Amelia beckoned the kid to her. He ran as fast as he could and arrived at her side just when his father and supposed brother were coming out of the train too. 

"Your  _maletas_ are ready _s_ _eñorita"_ he said with a little bow. 

"Well you have done a great job" she said with a smirk. Giving him one large tip. Looking at the money, the child's eyes beamed in awe. 

"You have a good trip,  _señorita_!" he said and ran away, Amelia entered her wagon before she could see the face of his father. But that was fine with her. 

 

Only ten more minutes, and she would go back to Buffalo. To Edith, to Alan... to her father. 

She fiddled with the strap of her suitcase, and her fingers once again caressing the lace and leather of it. She heard the whistle and looked down. Without even registering it, she had pulled out the book and was about to open it to the center. She let out a hiss of breath... and with sharp movements, she tucked it inside her suitcase again. She supported her head in her elbow... the train started moving. 

 

She barely registered the teenager with her father and brother... her eyes were filling with tears again. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, new story. I hope I got you hocked!
> 
> As I said in the note for this work, I wanted to post this because it was a refreshment of my Walking Dead fanfic. It got prettier and prettier and has now caught my interest.   
> Ah... just in case 'Coco' hasn't taught you enough Spanish yet:
> 
> Señorita : Miss  
> Maletas : Baggages  
> Papá : Father. 
> 
> Tell me what you think about it! See you on the next update and the real first chapter of this story.


	2. A book, a letter and a photo

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

 

 

" _Edith.... are you awake?"_

 

_"Yes."_

 

 _A curly brown head fiddles and turns around on the bed. Chocolate brown eyes meet their pair on a blond head._   _The brown haired girl scoots over to the other and her hand goes around the girl's shoulders... soon the blonde one realizes she is being hugged and sinks in the touch. Sniffs can soon be heard and the brown-haired girl feels her right shoulder damp with tears._

 

_"I hugged you because you were sad... not to make you cry." Edith chuckled and hold tighter onto Amelia._

_"Will you stay tomorrow too?" she gave her a hopeful whisper. They parted, and tear struck eyes met their pair, who rebelled against their own waterfall of grief. Amelia looked to the side and her little mouth turned down in a frown._

_"Sebastian said nothing... So, I think I can."_

_"... you don't call him 'big brother' anymore" Edith frowned, they parted further, and the little bond head used that opportunity to dry her face._

_"He doesn't want me to,"  Amelia whispered and this time around, the tears did fall. It broke Edith's heart._

 

_The two girls hugged again, they stayed like that for a long time. Despite the mild discomfort... Edith didn't want to let go. This was Amelia... her Amelia. She was warm, and she was there... and she could cry all she wanted in front of her, because she would never judge her for that... because she always listened. Finally, sleep started to come to Edith... but then... then..._

 

_She heard something._

 

_Amelia shuddered against her, and so did Edith... the room suddenly became too cold to bare._

_"Edith," Amelia whispered against here, her small voice resounded too strong on Edith's ear. Amelia parted first, and slowly sat on the bed. "You heard that?"_

_"Yes."_

 

_At first, Edith thought she better not turn around. If what she heard was somehow Amelia's doing... she was not going to fall for it. Ready to call her off, she opened her mouth to protest, but she stopped. Her blood ran cold when it happened again... that sound._

_They were steps. In a jump, Edith sat beside Amelia, the usual peachy skin was devoid of all color. Amelia wide-eyed her eyes past the door and to the hallway. Edith, however, squinted her eyes to take a better look. Then, she rushed a hand on her mouth, struggling to not make any sound. They were muffled but were evidently coming closer. Unsure her friend would keep quiet, Edith used her other hand to silence Amelia. As if brought back to reality, the young girl tugged hard on Edith's sleeping gown. The two girls stood still as a shadow with long... long bony fingers traveled past the far door, and came over the hallway. Soon the fingers followed a lanky arm, and then black veils... and a large dress._

_The girls gasped in unison; and when the semi-translucent figure came in their direction, they fell back into bed, grabbing the covers and her hands as tight as they could._

_Amelia closed her eyes, maybe her intention was to feign she was sleeping, but she closed her eyes too hard, and wrinkles formed around them. Edith wouldn't even dare to close her eyes. What was that thing? Was that what Amelia always scared her with, what she told about in her spooky stories at night? Was that a ghost?_

_Before Edith could make more questions in her head, she felt a cold pressure on her shoulder._

_The long fingers._

_She shuddered and turned to Amelia to search for comfort, but this one still had her eyes closed... Edith wished so to do the same, but she couldn't, she was scared to find herself in darkness. Instead, Edith gained her courage, she couldn't call for Amelia... her voice was frozen, but she could shake her, and so she did, grasping the little hand with more strength and giving it a little shake. Amelia's brow twitched, but didn't dare to open her eyes. Desperate, Edith moved to try it again, but the cold pressure that was on her shoulder soon loomed over her... and she froze completely, her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst._

 

**_My child_ **

 

_The voice was raspy but clear, close but far away, an echo of something more like a dream... It was filled with pain, as if it was breaking, and crying. Another shiver ran down her spine when she could recognize the sound and cadence of that voice, despite the echo and pain that it had. It was her mothers. Her eyes filled with involuntary tears, and her vision blurred an unfocused in Amelia's white sleeping gown._

 

**_When the time comes, beware... of 'Crimson peak'._ **

 

 

_A little whimper brought her back to reality, and as her tears fell down her cheeks, as her brown eyes desperately sought the twin ones of Amelia... she understood. Edith wasn't sure if Amelia was brave or simply too curious for her own good. For the little girl also heard what the ghost said and opened her eyes when she should have kept them closed. Amelia was now looking at Edith's deceased mother, her wide -eyes looked up, her face devoid of all emotion, her open mouth the only sign of what her mind must be going through. Then, that unmoving face contorted, so fast, so hideous. A high-pitched scream pierced the room... long, and terrifying._

_Suddenly the cold pressure over Edith disappeared, and this one turned in a jump. There was nothing._

_It was her mother, she couldn't see her. Amelia did, but no matter how hard she pleaded, Amelia wouldn't tell._

 

 

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

 

It was still early, Edith knew, but she just couldn't wait any longer. She came down from the trolley and decisively walked to the building in front of her... the tallest, most modern one there was at the market's plaza. She gave long steps, her dress was measured precisely to not touch the muddied ground. In her hand, she clutched tightly two things... important things. One was a leather portfolio that was full of papers... the other, a single opened letter. One, she hoped she could part off today in the best of circumstances; the other one... she wished she would not need to part from it at all. 

 

"Edith!" Someone called her name, wishing she would not have to stand for a conversation too long... she turns with a closed expression; but then, she recognizes the owner of that voice, and her eyes shine and her face illuminates. 

"Alan..." she smiles and he starts coming up the stairs again "When did you come back?"

"Two weeks ago, I thought Eunice had told you." he said, smiling rightly catching up to her. Edith's smile faltered.

 

"No, I ha... I hadn't heard." Eunice hasn't even been that close to her in the last year, or ever for that matter. She wasn't pleasant to talk with... and without someone to share that kind of gossip with...

"Oh. She made a conquest in London," he commented with a mischievous smile, and Edith's heart contracted for the person she had been waiting more than anything since that morning. Alan being the closest solace of that, she was thankful. Her smile brightened up again as her mood did 

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm setting up my practice upstairs," he half smiled, proud of himself... but who wouldn't. Edith noticed then the book and other things he hand in his arms; it sure has been a while since then... and Alan had maybe accomplished everything he wished to accomplish, she should congratulate him on that. Send him something; she returned to the present moment when Alan lifted his eyebrows in a playful gest as if silently asking the same question. Having the opportunity to share this moment with a close friend, Edith beamed. 

  
"I'm to meet Ogilvie at 10:00," she announced "to see if he wants to publish my manuscript." she started walking to her destination, now Alan accompanying her. 

"You do know it's only 9:00."

"I know, but I couldn't wait any longer." she contained an excited giggle. "And I want to make some corrections anyway, so..." she dismissed with a smile. She secretly wished this would turn out perfect and the book would be a welcome surprise rather than an uncertainty. 

 

"if you have any free time, please come and visit-" Alan offered, and before Edith could hear the rest of it, another voice boomed from the top of the stairs. Walking down were Ms. McMichael, Alan's mother, and sister. Edith swallowed, not really up to anything they all had to say, or not to say to her. She lowered her head, wishing it would just be a passing moment. 

"-We met him at the British Museum last fall when we were visiting Alan."

"Mother..." said Alan in the tone he had when he had heard enough of the same story. Edith hid her smirk under her hat. 

"You wouldn't believe it. He's so handsome... And he has crossed the ocean with his sister, only to see Eunice again" That, Edith did not believe. 

"Mother, he's here on business" corrected the tall and beautiful woman beside her, Eunice was... a young and beautiful woman. Weak and pale complexion as the figure of beauty was. However, Edith couldn't suppress the little vile that formed at hearing that blatant false modesty. She'd rather believe the same thing that her mother than what she said. 

"It seems he's a Baronet," said Alan's mother with a flourish. 

"What's a Baronet?" asked one of the fined they were accompanied with chipped in... Edith had the sudden urge to say something flippant about it, if not to close the conversation, to disseminate this vane air around her that surely would tamper her inspiration to correct any mistakes on her manuscript. 

 

 

" _Baronnet..._ an aristocratic title yes, but not as glamorous as you think," Edith gasped, that brilliant smile back on her lips. From the steps and going in their direction was a young woman in a velvet dark green dress. She had peachy skin, dark brown hair, mischievous eyes, and a wicked smile "Not high enough to be a Baron, barely more important than a knight; a Baronet is the knight title that can be inherited-"

"Sister!" Edith jumped to her arms and Amelia laughed hugging her tightly. 

"I thought you would wait for me to accompany you," she whispered and Edith yelped a little 'sorry' before letting go. Amelia turned to Alan "Alan... You are here too,"

 

"It's great to see you again Amy," answered Alan with a contented smile. 

"It is..." she beamed back "Ms. McMichael, don't fret. It is still a rare title... so your 'discovery' shouldn't be any less important," she finished with a smirk. The woman in front of her didn't share the same sentiment, tugging her glove a tad too hard, her placid face turning into a frown. Alan covered his smirk with a cough... but Edith's amusement was shadowed by worry. Indeed, Alan's mother regained ground and her mannered smile was back in place. 

"Miss Amelia Cushing, It's a surprise to see you again. Here we thought that you had been eaten by the cannibals of the jungle,"

"Mother..." warned Alan, his merriment going flat. Edith was ready with a cutting retort, but her sister's laugh stopped her. 

"Oh... Ms. McMichael, I must say, I missed your sense of humor. Although there are no cannibals in Mexico, I'm sure there had been seen in Brazil... a little farther to the south. Perhaps I would do you good to remember it if, by any chance, you wish to visit South America on your next vacation and you find yourself invited to dinner by the wrong set of natives," she said trying not to laugh through her speech. 

 

Nobody laughed with her, but that didn't deter her mirth in any way. This time around, Edith couldn't help but blurt a giggle. That.... and not Amelia's laugh, set Ms. McMichael literally on fire. The women around her gasped in horror or outrage. The woman's face didn't hide her anger any longer, her lips thin and contouring into a frown. Amelia was no longer laughing, but she smiled... like the cat who got the cream.  

"You... insolent-" the older woman sputtered. 

"Well it has been a pleasure, but we need to leave. Edith's got an appointment!" Amelia said finally, tugging Edith with her... leaving Alan to deal with an infuriated mother. 

 

 

 

"You are insane,"

"Me? She started it. I wouldn't pick on her if she knew her geography correctly. Cannibals in Mexico.... what idiocy,"

"I've missed you... so much" Edith's voice broke, and both sisters stopped on the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were going blurry with tears... but when a hand touched her cheek she giggled again and reached to wipe them away. 

"No, no... let me," the other hand also reached her face. With gentle movements the silky handkerchief soaked the tears away... and Edith was able to see her sister's face once again. It was a gentle smile that welcomed her... full with love. She let out another breathed giggle when she saw the waterfalls behind those brown eyes.. as always, refusing to fall. "We can get as emotional as we like back at home, you need to be cold-headed... eyes on the game,"

"I'm nervous," Edith confessed... her sister smiled. 

"Don't be... I can't be more proud of you." 

They hugged... and then the secretary came by asking who they were expecting. They parted, and Amelia stayed behind while Edith was escorted to Ogilvie. She was about to go when she noticed something on the ground... an opened letter. She unfolded it and read the missive... she smiled, recognizing her own writing. That airheaded Edith must have let it fall earlier, but then... was it important to hold so dear on it now? Either way, Amelia guarded it on her purse, a tender smile never leaving her lips. Having that done, she gave a quick turn to look at the entrance. Ms. McMichael was no longer at the stairs... then she was finally gone... the witch. Having seen Alan's shingle sign at the door, she knew he would be upstairs.

Not really wanting to go home to stay alone, she moved to the stairs and slowly took them to the third floor. Many doors appeared before her, for many purposes. She swiftly scanned through them until she found Alan himself at the end of the passageway, the door was open. 

 

 

"You mother hasn't changed,"

Alan was searching something over a desk, he looked up and smiled... leaving what he was doing, walking around the desk and opening his arms. Amelia smiled, hugging him back. 

"And you haven't either, it thought she was going to have an attack of hysteria... thanks to you."

"Sure, and I'll ignore what you said... because Dr. McMichael can't really believe in women hysteria" He laughed at that. 

"But I believe anyone can become irate enough to look like hysteria... if provoked," he said pulling a chair beside his examining table for Amelia to sit "and let it not be unsaid that provoking people is your hidden talent."

"Well if you are aware of it then it is not that hidden." she jested back and Alan smiled fondly. But... it only lasted a minute; he frowned... a face of confusion, and Amelia suddenly felt uneasy. Before she could get up and scape, her childhood friend had her by the chin, lifting her face. His other hand moved to open the gap of her eyes... then to feel her forehead. 

 

"When was the last time you had a good night's rest," he asked, his tone serious and demanding... Amelia sighed. "And I mean... eight hours of uninterrupted sleep Amelia... and don't lie to me."

"Two days ago," she said closing her eyes and letting her shoulders fall with finality. 

"Before you left Vera Cruz," she nodded "and then... have you slept at all?..." he heard no answer "Amelia,"

"I rested as much as you can rest in a moving train," she pouted, putting her elbow on the armrest and letting her head fall over her first "Oh Alan... it is not that serious... Edith didn't even notice,"

"It's not about being noticeable... you had learned how to hide it from everyone else but not from me," the annoyment trailed on his voice, "I thought your trip was to cure this.... this,"

"Illness?"

"You are not sick," he said and began pacing in front of her "In your letter, you said it stopped,"

"Sometimes it did.... and sometimes it didn't. But it was okay; I was doing okay." she finally said, looking down. Her eyes bore into the carpet until Alan was again on her eyesight. He was kneeling, his annoyment was washed over by worry again. 

 

 

"Then why did you came back?" 

"Because there was nothing else that place could do to help me," she said with a sad smile. Alan sighed, and got up again. In another time, he would have ended the conversation with one last question, one that Amelia would always refuse to answer... one that Edith knew about but preferred to ignore. It seemed that certain things did change, and Alan had coped with the idea that there were things that shouldn't be spoken of; things worse than hysteria. Instead, he reached to the small cabinet beside his desk, inside... there was a bast arrange of dark bottles and wooden boxes. Amelia stood up, her interest finally spiked. Alan turned around just when she was coming closer. He looked kind of stern, maybe defeated... Amelia wasn't sure. He handed her a small bottle and she looked at it against the light. It was a semi-dark liquid, and there was a dropper inside. Not being able to resist, Amelia opened the cap and took a short sniff. She frowned and sniffed again. 

"Valerian?"

"And some opium derivates." Amelia looked at him alarmed "They are not strong, and studies haven't show dependence."

"Yet," she protested. 

"Amelia, I'm giving you this because not sleeping will be far more dangerous... in the long run" he put a hand on her shoulder, she shook her head in denial "I'm not asking you to use this every night... you can use it every two days. But you need to sleep," he said in a tender voice. Amelia looked down... frowning and in deep thought. It's not like hadn't tried anything before, she couldn't sleep... she couldn't force herself to sleep. She didn't want to.

 

Her brown eyes looked up and locked with those of her childhood friend. Sweet Alan, naive Alan... generous Alan. She smiled, again... that sad smile; and she lifted the bottle at their eye level, waving it playfully before guarding it inside her purse.  Her friend let out his breath in relief. His worry wasn't gone, but it was out of Amelia's back. 

 

"So... what is this whole thing about the Baronet; please Alan... enlighten me," she commented in a tad forced but otherwise light tone. Alan turned to continue arranging his office. 

"Well... if you heard the question about the 'Baronet' then you must have heard the explanation that came along with it... or not?"

"Part of it... I wasn't that interested until one of them asked a sensible question" Alan laughed for good this time; Amelia couldn't help but smile. 

"Well... while I was still in London mother went to visit me. It was close to winter actually... they went to the British Museum and-"

"Wait. The British Museum... the History and Human Culture Museum in London" she said with an exceptical tone and Alan lifted his shoulders, with no real justification "And she has the nerve to talk me about cannibals in Mexico" she said both annoyed and, before she could help it, with a condescending tone. Alan didn't get mad though, he lowered his head but his eyes remained on Amelia, lifting his eyebrows "You are right... that was silly of me. The day your mother or her acolytes grow more interested in art and knowledge over a wealthy husband I'll grow wings and fly into the sunset," Alan laughed and shook his head in mirth, Amelia sat up straighter, "And... they met this Baronet there? What's his name?"

"Sir Thomas Sharpe." 

"And...?"

"And what?"

"And...? what has spiked your mother's interest so? Is he young? Old? Married?.... no, she wouldn't be interested if he were married... Sharpe; Sharpe... Sharpe. I can't say I've heard the name before. Oh! maybe the aristocrat title comes around with some lands or fortune" said Amelia, clearly no longer asking Alan for any answers but more like talking out loud. "Why would she brag about it, though?... if she were to form a real connection she wouldn't be saying a thing until it's set on paper. Animals tend to be territorial over their prospect conquests. Maybe he is not that smitten with your sister. That irks her... Ha! I'm sure of it," she said pointing her arm to her friend, as she had discovered an undeniable truth. 

"And since when Amelia Cushing is so determinate to find out the life of a person she hasn't even met?... Forget that; since when are you interested in that kind of gossip? period. " he provoked. Amelia pouted. Alan stopped what he was doing and gave a good look at her, like if assessing her motivations with caution "You shouldn't make pestering my mother your current past time. Your father likes her you know"

"How are you so sure that my only purpose is pestering her?" she innocently asked, but Alan's knowing smirk told her she was convincing nobody. She sighed, swinging her leg back and forth... all signs of mischief gone. 

"I'd rather ask if its well justified," Amelia didn't lift her gaze to confirm it, "Is it?"

 

Amelia thinned her lips again, not ready to confess her real inner motive... but not really capable of scaping Alan's inquisitive look. After all, having people you could keep close as Edith or Alan had it's come ups as well as its disadvantages. Having to speak your mind out to them could be counted as both. 

"I've known your mother for 14 years, from which 5 I've spent away from her... In all that time, not even once has she ever considered to be a little more civil to my sister... Alan," she earned a defeated sigh of the man "And it is not like I haven't given her any chances. You've seen her, and your sister... and her friends. They alienate Didi as if her brilliant mind was the plague," in a heartbeat, Amelia's aloof and rather cold explanation metamorphosed into a flaming rage, her dark eyes burned with an intensity Alan knew all too well. Her expression was steel cold, a fury that he had never been the vessel off. "If any of those... pompous chickens had a mere fraction of Edith's mind! If their sugarcoated spirit could have a speck of her independence!" she stood up, stalking close to him with an incensed voice "If their dull eyes could see that women are much more than pastel laces, senseless sewing, and grooming husbands! I won't allow Edith's genius to be stomped, ignored or mocked by the likes of-!!"

Her tirade stopped midway as if she had collided with a wall. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, keeping a safe distance from Alan... she began pacing back and forth.

"I apologize," she said curtly, not lifting her gaze. Alan sighed, troubled. It should bother him... how after a decade the animosity between Amelia and his mother hasn't done anything but grow. Even so, he had felt more pride and relief over Amelia's outrage than the fact that she was attacking his mother and sister. 

 

"There is nothing to apologize for,"

"No, no. This is not your mother's fault... or your sister's," she concluded, with a subdued but still harsh tone "Is this archaic society... this society that believes a woman should be weak, sheltered and boxed minded; it is a wonder we are still literate... if that serves for any purpose." she unceremoniously fell back on the couch, very unladylike "I'm tired, that must be it... I need to rest,"

"you need to rest," he agreed "But, you are also right... I can't always stop my mother, and I wish everyone else could see how unique Edith is... and then I wish they didn't," Amelia lifted her gaze and looked... really looked at Alan's expression, it washed away any remnant of her ire. "But maybe that is to change soon... if Ogilvie agrees to publish her book." 

"He better does."

Silence fell after that... and it didn't take long for Amelia to stand up to leave, even if the silence was not uncomfortable. She gave her goodbyes to Alan, saying she was to meet Edith... thinking that until Edith was free she would roman around the office or maybe go to the park. She came out of the office and was going downstairs when she noticed Edith already waiting for her. 

 

 

 

 

"At last!" Mr. Cushing stood from the table as he saw entering tot he dining room the two young women. Amelia surged forward to hug her father, giving him a peck on the cheek. "You have evaded me all morning, young lady; now I see why," he said with a little smile and a turn to Edith "So.... how was it?"

The annoyed look on Amelia and the outraged one of Edith said it all and Carter Cushing knew that it didn't go well. He sat back at the table with his two most important ladies on each side of him.

"He told me it needed a love story. Can you believe that?" 

"Ogilvie's old-fashioned."

"Archaic..." Amelia invited her own vitriol to the tirade, Mr. Cushing sighed... now remembering that combined, his daughters were sharper than steel, stronger than concrete. "If I remember correctly, Didi... you said he regarded the writing and loops on its own remarkable; what I really think is that he only mentions the romance factor because Didi is a woman," Edith hummed in approval while biting on her food. 

"Everyone falls in love, Amy, even women,"  he conceded, Amelia lifted her eyes to collide with those of her father, a tad of panic in them... and that amused him. 

" I don't want to write a love story like that," Edith retorted more annoyed. An uncomfortable silence fell after it. 

 

"Well, my darling, I was hoping to make this a celebratory gift," he said suddenly, pulling from his coat pocket a small rectangular box, it was lavished in blue velvet and a silver ribbon. Amelia stopped eating. Edith took it, also curious about its contents, she opened it and pulled out an ornated fountain pen, made in silver and gold. "I'm a builder, dear. If there's one thing I know, it's the importance of the right tool for the job,"

"It's beautiful," she said in appreciation but deep in thought, then... suddenly she put the pen down "But actually, father, I was hoping to type it, in your office"

"Type it?" his father asked confused. 

"I'm submitting it to the Atlantic Monthly, but I realize now that my handwriting is too feminine. It gives me away," she said with finality. 

"She... kind of has a valid point" commented Amelia, standing from her chair and going between Edith and their father, it was then that she noticed he wasn't as content as he should be... crestfallen? Maybe Edith hadn't noticed. "But, here's what I think, that you should type it and sign it at the end. It will give it luck, and your signature might give you away... but they would have already read it," she said with a little wink and her playful smirk. "Don't you think that an idea... father?" she said turning to him. 

The man regarded his daughters and smiled... a genuine, proud smile. Watching him contented, Amelia smiled too, and Edith giggled, guarding the pen carefully back on its case.

"Without a doubt,"

 

 

 

"I told you. the ghost is a metaphor-"

"For the past... I know." 

Amelia paced back and forth in front of Edith. Both dressed in their sleeping gowns. It was already night time, and the discussion with their father had ended in a promise that tomorrow morning, Edith and Amelia would go to his office... use his typewriter and turn Edith's work in an impartial piece of literature whose only give away that a woman had made it was the aforementioned signature at the end. Edith sat on the bed, unceremoniously crosslegged like she used to do when Amelia and she were still children. Her sister had gone through the whole manustript in the afternoon and was reading it again. She hadn't given any critics about it yet, but for some reason, Edith was even more nervous than when she was with Ogilvie. 

"This is good;" came the appreciative comment of her sister... Edith let out the air she was holding with a loud huff. That made Amelia giggle "It is psychologically based, I like that about it. The ghosts and the painful past are explained but," she sighed showing a troubled expression. Edith lifter her eyebrows, urging Amelia to say what she had on her mind "But... I think Ogilvie has a point."

"What!" and outraged Edith sat straighter.

"Before you chase me out of your room, hear what I have to say,"

"Amelia just this morning you said-!"

"Hear what I have to say," The voice had more confidence. Edith slumped her shoulders, clearly not convinced by it.

 

 

"Fine, I'm listening," she said begrudgingly. Amelia lifted an eyebrow.

"Well... If I understand this correctly, your character falls into a spiral of uncertainties. He finds that his life has been a lie, and the ghosts around him try and help him escape this labyrinth of pain and panic. But then.... what?"

"What do you mean... what?" Edith frowned.

"He realizes the truth and breaks free? Just like that?... What motivated him? Who did?"

 

Edith holds a look of confusion, Amelia says nothing more for a while, waiting for Edith to fill in the dots.

 

"Why would he need someone to do this for? Why can't he do it on his own?"

"Because he can't. The metaphor is incomplete," Amelia's audience was lost again. "Look. Ghosts are our past, our shadows. But for us, evolved animals, we feed of our shadows to survive. Fears, starvation... pains, the alpha pressure; and we do this on our own. We have ourselves and our past to guide us... even our reason works for this purpose. Now, what separates us from our instincts, what forces us to leap forward? to change?"

And the idea bloomed in Edith's head. She wide-eyed in sudden realization. Amelia smiled triumphantly. 

"Love,"

"Love."

"But... a romance?" still Edith complained, Amelia run and sat beside her in a jump. 

"No... no. In that, I remain unmoving. Ogilvie is either a headstrong traditionalist or a hopeless romantic." Edith laughed "I don't know if he had this train of thought or his gut feeling told him what it lacked... but he was right on one thing. Love moves people, love makes us change. But it can be love to ourselves, to a friend, to family, to our work... To life," Edith smiled, with that she could work with. Amelia knew her sister was a hopeless dreamer, an optimist of the world. The idea seemed to appeal to her. 

 

With an unceremonious roll over the bed, Edith reached for her nightstand. There she procured a pencil and began relentlessly scribbling on the stack of papers. Amelia limited herself to watch with a tad of satisfaction. 

"I'll burn your copy of the 'Origin of the species'... I think you've had enough," Edith teased after a while, not lifting her face from her work. 

"Instead of burning it you should read it... It could help you see how much we still behave like our primate ancestors,"

"Well, for some of us it is still hard to believe we come from apes."

"Oh... I find it even harder to believe we come from dirt and wind,"

"Let not father hear you, or He'll burn your book.... okay it's done,"

 

Amelia frowned and looked over her sister's shoulder. "That was fast, are you really done?"

"The overall schema is... at least," she then straightened the papers and put them back on its small leather case. A couple of minutes passed before a reluctant Edith turned to ask Amelia, "Will you be accompanying me tomorrow to dad's office?" 

"To type it. Of course, I will... it would be an interesting experience. I've never used a typewriter before... but how different from the piano can it be?" Edith laughed "We could take turns on typing it... it will certainly be less taxing on you" she leaned back smiling "Moreover, I have nothing else to do," she said stretching.

"Really?" Amelia nodded, Edith giggled "are you certain?"

"Unless you know something I don't..."

 

 

With a wicked smirk of her own, Edith walked over to her nightstand. She opened the drawer again and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. It had some pages clumsily protruding from the edges, some with spots of ink and folded. Amelia recognized it as Edith wavered in the air and walked back to her sister. 

"Oh no!... Didi, you didn't!" Amelia felt herself blushing, she hid her face on her hands. Edith relished on the reaction of her sister. "Give it here!... Where did you find it?" She asked extending her hand. Amused Edith stretched her hand to keep it out of Amelia's reach. 

"The poor thing was forgotten on your bed... with all of the wrinkled clothes you weren't sure where to put. Linda gave it to me when she took them to wash,"

"Well for your information it wasn't abandoned, it had been camouflaged"

"Camouflaged?... Who were you hiding it from, dear sister.... me?" Edith teased. Without any more preamble, she opened it and when some papers jumped out of it like a fountain. Edith yelped and laughed. Amelia moved over to put them in order again. Both writing and sketches of plants and animals meticulously classified and studied. Pages only she knew the order of. 

"How about the universe..." she answered, giving a sheepish look at the blond sibling. Edith gave her a wicked smile. Amelia relented "Actually, I've forgotten about them. I wasn't sure what to do with it now.... that is, it's the first of many" her sister wide-eyed and looked more attentively to the precise drawings. Her delicate fingers went over one of the drawn feathers of an exotic bird... and she smiled. 

"The natural history Museum would kill to have these," said Edith commented in awe and absentmindness. Amelia gave her and unsure hum and a shrug. 

"Coming from me... I don't know, female writters... we finally have more of those... but female doctors? Biologists?... even if I wished to be one, I wouldn't be regarded as....-" her smile flew away and as she spoke, her face turned into a defeated... annoyed, sad Amelia instead. Then she abruptly stoped and Edith turned to stare at her face... taking in all of those emotions. She frowned. 

"Well if they don't give it its value because it came from you they are certainly fools. Especially because it comes from you!" Amelia lifted an eyebrow, skeptical "They would accept it regardless... I'm sure. And you, you are the brightest person i know" she said more determined and Amelia couldn't help but smile, her eyes betraying her emotion behind them. With a fast move, Edith opened the suitcase with her manuscript once more and put the book inside, "It's decided, you are bringing these tomorrow and you'll also work on the on father's office"

 

"Me?"

"You... just imagine it; a large paper, colored sketches in ink."

"Well one thing is certain... unless they lend me a printing machine that book won't be copied anytime soon, it could even be a museum exhibition"

"Mimi, I'm serious!"

"I know... sorry," Amelia said giggling and Edith bumped her shoulder. Amelia stared at her sister and smiled fondly. "There is nothing that can replace you... You have no idea how much I've missed you... and how much I'm glad to be back." 

 

The confession took Edith by surprise. With a large smile and teary eyes, she hugged her sister. 

"But if you call me 'Mimi'.... one more time," Edith laughed again.

"You have to tell me all about Vera Cruz. What you've been doing? Where you've been living... you have to tell me about the jungle, the natives and the animals!"

"I Think one night will not be enough, but we can try anyhow," commented Amelia. Edith 's excitement dissolved in a worried frown. 

"But Amy you must be so tired... you arrived today early and you haven't taken a rest since this morning.... we could leave this for tomorrow,"

 

Amelia's mirth died... but she smiled nonetheless for Edith. They hugged and she wished her sister goodnight before leaving through the door and down the hallway. 

 

The silence was so thick a pin-drop could be deafening. Amelia reluctantly walked forward... the only light was the lamp on the wall. Some moths flew to it and collided with the smoked cristal. Amelia gazed at it and her mind drifted through time, back when she was still a child. A cold chill ran down her spine and she straigtened, resuming her walk now with a brisk pace. Turning the corner she found another door half opened, she entered and closed it with a large thud. She cringed, maybe the servants had heard that... but it was too late now. Frantic, she looked around her and picked a chair which she acommodated against the door handle. Amelia tried to open the door with the chair on her way, and after a couple of forceful thugs, she stepped back. 

 

But she was not satisfied; she went over one untouched hest and opened it hastily. Inside were many things but among them was a leather belt... one that almost seemed to belong to a man. Stretching it she walked over the door and looped the belt around the handles, as tight as the delicate ornament would alow her. 

 

Only when it was done... only when silence engulfed her again she walked over to her bed and lay over the covers, her pillow was arranged for her back to be semi-reclined, she brought her knees to her chest as far as she could and she stayed there.... curled up and looking at the door. Her mind looked beyond her barricade, back to the empty and dark hallway, she looked until the lamp ran out of oil... and she was comsumed by darkness. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people!
> 
> At first, I thought to only post the prologue. I had the chapter done, so I decided I better post them both. Why?  
> Because 1) the prologue is too short, 2) the first chapter is the real introduction to my idea of this story. 
> 
> Please, let me hear your opinion, don't hesitate to comment, ask, kudo, subscribe. I hope you are hooked for this adventure. 
> 
> See you soon,


	3. A restless mind

 

 

Every morning, Jane rose pretty early, just as many of the other maids in the Cushing household. Just before dawn, she prepared the lukewarm water, warmed clean towels, and took a tray with toiletries for her mistress's morning grooming. She had been used to serve Ms. Cushing before she died, and she was assigned to serve Ms. Edith after the death of her mother. She, in fact, had served Ms. Edith for over a decade now.

So it was quite the unexpected change when she was told she would be attending Ms. Amelia from now on.

 

She obeyed with a hint of grief; she had been only a couple of years older than Edith and she took her care on a personal scale. Edith hadn't said much about it... rather, she had repeated Jane many times to take the best of cares with her sister. Jane ended up promising Miss Edith she would make sure to pamper Miss Amelia rotten.

But even that was not what made the change unexpected. Ms. Mary, Amelia's personal maid and confident, had been beside her all the young Miss's life. Mary was a relatively old woman that came from Remington's household to keep faithfully serving her mistress; even after that horrible incident no servant -no one, in general- was allowed to talk about. Mary had been beyond loyal... and Ms. Amelia never parted with her either. Because of this, it was a real shock to everyone when the young lady announced she was going away to South America, more specifically, to Mexico... on her own.  Nobody was completely sure why. Mary had even begged Mr. Cushing to allow her to make the long trip with Ms. Amelia, but not only he denied her that request, he had no choice but to confess it was an order from Amelia herself. One year later, the old woman died from a heart attack.

 

Jane swallowed some saliva. If she were to be frank, she didn't want to work for Miss Amelia. Her choice was certainly biased, she prefered Ms. Edith much more than her sister, even when people said that they couldn't tell the difference. Indeed, to visitors, the Cushing sisters seemed to be like twins, acting and reacting as one mind and one body... but a maid like Jane could notice the subtle differences in character that others couldn't; and those subtle differences were that moved her to keep a respectful distance of the young brunette lady. Miss Edith was an innocent soul; gentle, kind and elegant. An eternal dreamer that was pure and full of light. But Miss Amelia... Miss Amelia was simply different; she had this strong bearing, wild and indomitable spirit that slept just below the surface... a piercing regard, a quick and calculating mind, a steel control of her emotions, a tongue as sharp as a razor blade.

 

She -for the lack of better words- had the temper of a man... Jane was sure, she could affirm it to close ones and even strangers. Ever since they were all young, Jane had been baffled by that aloof exterior, that disinterest in women past-times. Miss Edith loved writing and she had the same disinterest in romance and sewing but Jane knew that deep inside her she longed to have beautiful dresses, dance nonstop at parties and had a pull towards beauty and feminity.

Miss Amelia -and Jane was sure of this- couldn't care less. She danced yes, but Jane remembered how her instructors always complained that she continuously wanted to lead. She knew how to sew and she was good at fixing torn-ups and fading... but she avoided embroidery like the plague. Miss Amelia draw and paint, and she was quite the artist. However, she never practiced or goaded of her talent in public... even when many paintings that were appreciated around the house were her own. When Miss Amelia Cushing announced that she went to paint in the attic, it was a nightmare to Mary and other maids... locked down often for entire weeks -Mary was the one to bring her food and toiletries-, the young miss would only come out with a finished product, and a dress so much colored in oil paint that it could no longer be salvageable. And let us not start with the violin... Amelia's passion, Edith's favorite delight, and the housekeeper's torture.

But, what confused Jane the most, was that Mr. Cushing did nothing to change that behavior. Jane would still look at wonderment how Mr. Cushing... as traditional as he was, filled his chest with pride at Ms. Amelia's witty remarks, practical view and, even sometimes, male mentality. She would never understand... she didn't think it normal.

 

Her reflection ended when she found herself at the entrance of Miss Amelia's bedroom, she gently turned the handle of the door to not wake the young miss, she was used to Miss Edith sleeping for a little longer. She pushed one time, then another... but the door didn't even budge. she frowned and tried to push a little harder; it was then that she noticed the slight resistance the handles had against her. But the door wasn't locked... she was confused.

Resigned, she went to gently knock at the door. "Ms. Amelia?" she called and knocked again, but jumped at the sudden rattle behind the door. it was loud, and there were many sounds she couldn't comprehend. Jane thought it was the last of it but she was scared out of her body once again when the door opened in a harsh movement and her face landed on one surprised, confused but serious looking Amelia Cushing. 

The young woman furrowed her brows and studied the maid with open curiosity. She was trying to remember the name that came with the face and Jane shifted on her feet , suddenly feeñing anxious. 

"Jane?.... It's Jane right?" Jane looked up, slightly started. She took a deep breath, she was no longer a teenager to feel so nervous and out of place.

"Yes... Ms. Amelia, your father-"

"Yes, he told me. Good morning Jane, please come in."

 

The young miss opened the door completely and stepped inside, Jane followed soon after... she frowned. The bed was already made, nothing seemed even out of place. She put the toiletries on the wall table and bent over to take the bed furnace away. It was another surprise for her when she noticed that it was under the bed... not even lit. She frowned yet again.

 

"Hasn't Miss Amelia felt cold during the night?" Amelia turned, her expression a mixture of confusion and boredom. Her gaze went to the furnace, she blinked a couple of times. Then, out of nowhere, she gently smiled.

"Not really... It was rather warm yesterday. You felt cold last night Jane?"

"No... I didn't," she frowned, she wasn't often asked how she slept. Ms. Amelia walked over to her and then took something on the nightstand. It was the room lamp.... or rather, the oil compartment.

"Well... that's a good thing. It has gone empty," she said lifting the little bowl to their eye level "I wanted to ask you if you could refill it." 

"Yes, of course, Miss Amelia-"

"Just Amelia is alright you know," she joked, Jane wide-eyed, "We have known each other for a decade now... you were my sister's personal maid, and now we are going to spend a lot of time together... I believe the 'Ms. Amelia' will get old... especially when we are alone, Don't you think?" She said, giving Jane one of those complicit smirks. Jane was caught off guard and she stuttered a sloppy 'yes' before Amelia turned to give Jane her back, "So Amelia it is."

"A-as you wish... Mi-... Amelia," The name rolled weirdly on her lips. Somehow that made the young lady laugh... as she walked away.

"Don't think too much into it Jane. It was only a friendly suggestion. Now... Edith wanted to go to father's office this morning... so let's get started."

Jane hadn't noticed the young lady had already pulled from her closet the whole set of garments she was going to use. Jane would have liked to offer some suggestions to the young lady, especially about colors. However, not really comfortable with her new mistress, she limited herself to aid Ms. Amelia in her grooming and dressing. As Jane brushed Ms. Amelia's hair, she noticed the leather belt and chair that rested just beside the door. Her mind immediately understood... and a shiver ran down her spine.

She believed she was going to get used to Ms. Amelia's eccentricities one day. But she doubted it would happen anytime soon.

 

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

 

"Some things don't change,"

Edith giggled while Ms. Nathan, father's secretary, laughed heartily. Amelia moved to hug the woman, something that surprised the worker but welcomed nonetheless. They had arrived half an hour after their father. When Edith woke up that morning, Amelia was already dressed, complaining that she wanted to accompany father to work. Edith had forgotten about this, how when her sister still was with them she would accompany father or visit him, sometimes only to see what he did and how he did it. Father loved it so Edith had no objections; although she often wondered how Amelia managed to ignore so much noise. 

The building buzzed with people and energy. Many tables were crowded with people and blueprints. People with miniature models. People with not-so-miniature models. Not all of them were about buildings; father had a certain interest in innovative clockwork and machinery... but it wasn't fascination, that would be what Amelia felt for it. 

Edith focused her mind again on her work. Typing was not an easy task, and being too distracted around it could only end with one botching their page ad having to type it all over again. 

"Well... this is going to take a while," Edith smiled, wondering how Amelia could have the patience to observe and study animals and plants for hours on end but not stand to watch her type for less than an hour  "Ms. Johanne don't we have another typing machine like this one? I'd be surprised if father hadn't bought one in case of  an emergency,"

"Indeed, you know your father well Miss Amelia," the secretary teased. Edith tried to hide a smirk unsuccessfully.

"Well, then... could you help me get it? Those machines are unnecessarily heavy... I bet there could be a way to make them lighter if one as well tried," Ms. Johanne gave a little laugh. 

 

 

 

The two women walked away and left Edith on her own. Edith sighed in relief... she thought that if her sister were to open her mouth one more time she would have to chase her to the second floor. But then again, it was Edith's fault too to be more interested in her sister's witty comments and jokes rather than the work she was supposed to be doing. Edith looked down at the manuscript with a more business-like approach... there were hardly past the second chapter, and she already noticed the pencil scribblings she had made on the sides the night before. Love; trust her sister to see love as a logical process rather than a feeling. She huffed, yet... she would have never accepted that love was a necessary element on her story on her own, even to save her life. It was Mimi and her own bizarre way of seeing things that convinced her to do it. 

Love, the force that drives us further than reason and instinct; and still so intimately related to reason and instinct itself. Mimi described love as a drive and passion... but also as a universal being and reason that englobed the world and its way to move around. There were many things to love; the fact that Ogilvie thought of romantic love first and foremost maybe wasn't because Edith was a woman but because... from a commercial point of view... people turned to this notion when they thought about love. Unconsciously she had fallen into that quicksand too... what a fool. 

But she had come out harmless... and enlightened. Edith had a spark of inspiration, one that almost didn't let her sleep yesterday night. The general background she had written over her manuscript now were but breadcrumbs that showed her the way home... made her remember all that mussing she had been going through - round and round yesterday night. Mimi could be back at any minute, make it half an hour or merely a couple of minutes... she needed to keep her concentration going. 

 

"Good Morning Miss,"

A couple of seconds, then. Edith lifted her gaze with her best schooled nonchalant look... only for it to be crushed away by bewilderment and, one could say, panic. The confident voice belonged to a tall man with a large loud case.

"Forgive the interruption," Edith looked from the case to the rich, dark fabric of his coat, to the top hat... to its owners face. White, sculpted, angular and yet delicate. Edith wondered if one could call a man fair without being rude. At the last bit, she caught a distinctive British accent and couldn't help but wonder. "I have an appointment with Mr. Carter Everet Cushing,"

"Goodness... with the great man himself," Edith teased and the stranger gave a little smile, going for the pocket on his coat

"I'm afraid so," he said extending a small presentation card. Edith took it and read it aloud... but... is te felt her blood suddenly freeze. 

"Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet." As a flooding river, Amelia's definition of what a baronet was invaded Edith's mind. "You are not late.... are you?" she said getting up, fixing the stack of papers that were already typed. 

"I'm actually a little early," the man flashed another smile, larger this time. Edith tore her gaze from it. 

"Well I'm afraid he hates that too," she said while walking past him. She wasn't used doing this but Ms. Nathan was with Amelia. "I'll tell him you are here,"

"Excuse me, I don't mean to pry but... this is a work of fiction, is it not?"

 

Edith froze, then slowly turned around to regard  Mr. Sharpe one more time; he was hunched over the desk she was in, maybe he did when she walked past him and didn't notice. Trepidation took over her heart as he lifted the pages she had already typed. None of the modifications that Amelia suggested were in those first chapters, this was still an invention entirely her own and there it was... Eunice's marriage interest, peeking at them with rude interest. 

"Yes," she raised her head, steeling herself for whatever may come. maybe this was a good outcome may be the opinion of an unbiased reader would do her good. Still, she couldn't help but feel her heart beat a little faster, not sure of waiting to hear something different from appreciation. 

"Who are you transcribing this for?"

"It is to be sent to New York tomorrow, to the Atlantic Monthly..." 

"Well whoever wrote it is um... rather good don't you think?"

 _"_ Really?" the British lord is frowning, something that could be easily interpreted as seriousness.... open seriousness. Edith's polite smile fades gradually, but her eyes shine with a new fire. She takes a breath, she needs it... her heart just wouldn't stop racing. She looks down at the papers held by pale flawless hands and long delicate fingers. 

"It certainly caught my attention-"

"I wrote it," the confession came rushed, Edith couldn't bring herself to look back at the clear eyes, so she missed his expression. Nevertheless, if she didn't give a clear fight Amelia would never let her hear the end of it "It's mine,"

As if a spell was then broken, Mr. Thomas Sharpe smiled. It was a competitive grin, not wide enough to show teeth, but it had a certain charm around it... as it promised willingly to keep the secret. Edith blushed, realizing it was much like the playful smile Amelia always gave her way. The nervousness is faintly fading away, Edith knows... but she doesn't fight against it. He takes a step forward, they are closer now. Edith resists the urge to take a deep breath and only faintly catches the scent of musk and violets.

"Ghosts," His tone holds some amusement, but not mockery. Edith can't help but smile.

"W-well... the ghosts are a metaphor--"

"It's interesting because, where I come from... ghosts are not to be taken lightly"

 

 

Edith could have looked up, could have let herself believe in those deep blue eyes and that promising voice; but fate appeared, as it constantly did, in the form of her sister. A strange rattle startled her out of the strange bubble she and Mr. Thomas had immersed themselves in. She twist around sharply, her dress and petticoats twirling around her frame; her face feels hot,  her expression a mixture of shame, surprise, and relief. But neither Amelia, not Sir Thomas is fast enough to see it, thankfully. What they are able to see however is her face of confusion and outrage barely moments later. Just a few steps away is Amelia as if frozen in time... She looks like a frightened deer caught unaware in the prairie. In her arms, she hugs a voluminous metal typewriter, one that was about to be lifted from a wheeled table and put onto the desk where was meant to rest. Ms. Nathan was nowhere to be found.

"Amelia Cushing!" She whispered and the spell broke; her sister flinched in clear guilt. "What do you think you are doing?"

"What does it look like?" She tried to lift it again, the colossal machine dragging on the wooden surface. 

"Miss Cushing please allow me, " with a fast move, the baronet was beside her... Lifting the machine along with her sister. She gave the stranger one confused look but said nothing. Finally... The typing machine was set in place. 

"Where is Ms. Nathan?" Edith hurried to say.

Amelia hesitated, giving the stranger another distrustful glance. 

"She was called upstairs, with father." She curtly answered but stopped, unable to hold back anymore she turned to the young man "Good morning... you have an appointment, Mister...?"

"Sir Thomas Sharpe, ar your service Miss Cushing," the gallant salutation was awkwardly accepted. Amelia reluctantly extended the back of her hand to be kissed, forcing a polite smile on her lips but glancing at her sister repeatedly. Edith wasn't sure how to respond to Amelia apprehension... but she should have to know that it wouldn't last. Amelia's confusion and distrust were gradually but surely changed by another sentiment... curiosity. Now Edith understood, what her sister was trying to do with those side glances was only to confirm if she knew -it was rather hard not to know- who she was talking to. When Edith decided to not let on anything... She took another tactic. It was fast as lightning, how her surprised glance transformed and her brown eyes started to shine with mirth, the corners of her mouth twitched a little... Giving the polite smile a dangerous air. One that surely a stranger like Sir Thomas would have never noticed. 

"Ah! But could it be... Our English visitor?" 

"It appears that my reputation precedes me, " he headed back. Amelia quipped amused.

"Oh... Well. You made the impression on our Eunice... she wouldn't stop talking about you," the young man's polite and charming posture faltered... If only for a second. Amelia must have noticed... because her smile grew larger for shorter than that. Edith was certain now -if she doubted before- that her sister wished to continue baiting him as she did with Ms. McMichael. Although she wished to intervene, she wasn't sure how. "How are liking America, Mr. Sharpe?"

"It is... Not as I expected it to be. But I assure you, my lady, that this surprise has been a welcomed one," he said... And gave a little glance in Edith's direction. Edith stomped down the desire to indulge and took her chance.

 

"Mr. Sharpe has an appointment with Mr.  Carter, " 

"Ah... I hope he hasn't arrived late, he hates that." 

And a little snort, accompanied by a rebellious giggle, finally left her sister utterly confused. Her mistrust appeared again as she glanced between Mr. Sharpe and Edith. Straightening out her posture, her next comment came in an unshaken business demeanor. 

"Then I shall accompany Mr. Sharpe. We shouldn't hold back father's client now, should we?.... Sister, " 

"Indeed, I wish you luck Mr. Sharpe, " Edith admonished her sister with a little glare before she turned to the man in question. His light blue eyes were filled with surprise and a little embarrassment. She turned around to resume her typing, hiding the smile that proved she rather liked to see him bested. 

 

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

 

"Ah..."

"If you would please follow me... Mr. Sharpe, " before the baronet could get out of his stupor, Amelia was already climbing the stairs to the second floor. She only waited for a couple of seconds at the third step. The young aristocrat realized he was left with no other option and followed after her. He frowned at her; then, realizing his own reaction he schooled it away. Amelia bit down another smirk. 

"It is not very known of the Cushing siblings outside of America. My sister Edith takes this to her advantage and sometimes plays little pranks on foreigners... keeping greetings to the last moment. It was a harmless jest, please don't be offended. I assure you she isn't,"

"I'm afraid I feel an apology to her is needed regardless," he countered back. Amelia lifted her eyebrows; clearly expecting he would be the one wanting an apology and not the other way around. She frowned, not sure what sense to make of it all. Here comes Eunice's soon-to-be-husband talking to Edith... Smiling at Edith... Complimenting Edith. She knew from the moment she heard his British accent it was him and from the same moment, she knew she couldn't trust him. A sudden fear of a cruel plotted game took over her protective instincts and... she reacted. She concluded then that making little jests and playing the way Ms. McMichael oh so preferred wasn't going to be enough for her; so after a short pause, her tone came a little harsher.

 

"Sir, I hope you've meant it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The manuscript... you said you found it interesting. I hope you meant it,"

Enigmatic blue-green eyes met deep chocolate-brown ones. Amelia tried her to keep her stare even. If she were to make a description of the young man’s face, she would say the Baronet looked surprised... If not a little annoyed. 

"I wouldn't have said so if it weren't true, Miss Cushing," his he tensed his jaw but looked away, again trying to hide what rose to the surface. Amelia’s assertiveness washed away to leave only confusion behind. But then she understood that he wasn't happy by being heard over by someone not welcomed; nevertheless, he wouldn't say it out loud -such was the way of a polite person-. At that moment, she would have laughed at many things: the way she had forgotten she had shamelessly spied; the fact she usually was incensed by other people doing the same thing, or the unexpected feeling of wanting to apologize. 

"It... it was not my intention to overhear... or interrupt. But I also wanted you to know. I care for my sister and for her work to be rightly recognized," she looked down... now unsure if that came out right. She frowned; suddenly feeling exposed, unbalanced... as if she'd lost the higher ground. She had apologized to a stranger; after she shamelessly teased him about his sudden interest in Edith; after she had also shamelessly –and also intentionally – eavesdropped almost the entire conversation he had with her.... after she had mocked his title and heritage. Her head told her repeatedly he couldn't be trusted, but her head also told her repeatedly she had no proof for such judgement and that she had only found herself giving him unfair treatment. A reluctant and defeated sigh escaped her lips; still unsure how this situation had turned against her so easy… so fast, Amelia took courage in the form of a breath of fresh air. Lifting her gaze, now devoid of mischievous mirth or mocking arrogance, she moved to say, “Please, accept my apology."

There was one moment of silence after that. The Baronet came to a halt, and turned his serious and solemn expression to the young Cushing; one far too similar to the one that the young woman wore on her face. The stalemate seemed to go on forever; Amelia couldn’t help but swallow some saliva, clearly nervous. But then, the spell broke. Sir Thomas’s face softened, moment by moment, until the dark eyebrows stopped frowning, until the bright blue eyes shone with a different light, and until the frown on his light colored lips turned into a soft and warm smile… so different, so much different to the polite smiles he had flashed to her and her sister just moments ago. It was far from being the most charming, but it was the gentlest… and the most beautiful. And with that last thought on her constantly working mind, Amelia softened her own expression, surprise painting her gaze, and pink coloring her cheeks.

"There is nothing to apologize for. I have a sister myself and I’m also very protective of her,” Amelia raised her eyebrows in surprise. Of course, she completely forgot he had a sister. She looked down for a moment, now filled with curiosity, “To be completely honest, I would have reacted the same way… though I wouldn’t be so blunt about it,” he teased, his gentle smile now blooming with something new… mirth. Amelia couldn’t stop the little smile that jumped to meet it; that was... until she realized she had been called blunt and brash and her face showed the indignation it deserved. An amused laugh met her reaction but was soon muffled by the lavished end of a fine man’s suit.

“I had the impression you would appreciate honesty over sugar-coated sidetracking Mr. Sharpe,” she rebuked; however… there was no malice, no anger behind it. It must have come out correctly, for the said Baronet smiled with the same amusement.

“And that is correct. You have sharp instincts, Miss,”

And she was done.

A less controlled laugh escaped her lips. She covered her mouth, surprised at herself; but didn’t stop laughing. It was that perfect. Sir Thomas must have noticed the game of words because he also started giggling. They had started going up the stairs and as they disappeared one after the other, both young people tried their best to regain a serious demeanor.  

“Well, clearly my social skills need to.... Sharpe-nn,” she commented as they reached the end of the stairs and were now in front of two closed doors, one lined beside the other.

“Please do have mercy on me, Miss Amelia. This is not the face of a man coming to ask for an investment,” He said with a more calmed down expression. Amelia soured… then, and frowned confused.

“Asking for an investment?... but I thought that you –“

“It is about time you arrive child. Here I thought you no longer got up early,”

Amelia and Sir Thomas both turned to look at Mr. Carter Cushing that had opened the door to his office and interrupted his daughter. His tone was stern, but otherwise, a smile accompanied his features. Amelia walked over to him and hugged him, kissed him on the left cheek. The old man giggled… that is, until his eyes lied on the stranger.

 

~*~*~

The expression soured… and if Sir Thomas had ever feared he would need to work harder to show seriousness, Mr. Cushing had taken care of that immediately. Amelia turned, and the young English man would ponder later about the stark contrast between father and daughter, as they stood one beside the other.

“Oh, this is Sir Thomas Sharpe… Baronet. I believe he is your first appointment father,”

“Sir Thomas, welcome to our fair city.” Said the old man while extending his hand. Sir Thomas took it promptly.

“Sir, it is my pleasure,”

“It seems you’ve already met one of my daughters, Amelia.” The young girl took his attention by touching his forearm.

“Actually he met us both… by chance. Didi received him, and Ms. Johanne wasn’t nearby and I offered to accompany him upstairs,”

“Indeed, Sir Thomas has arrived a little early. Johanne is getting everything ready…” he said giving the young man a stern look, but then he shook his head, lifting his hand in sign of peace, “But it is not bad. She’s almost done;” He then turned to his daughter with a complicit smile “My pigeon, it would be my pleasure if you accompanied us today,”

Amelia raised her eyebrows both curious and expectant. Sir Thomas frowned, he actually was about to give Amelia a polite farewell. She gave a small glance to the young man before she turned with a large smile to her father.

“Well, I’d love to. It’s true it’s been a while, I might be a little rusty,” her father barked a couple of laughs.

“Nonsense… You finally have the age to officially be considered one of us; what you’ve learned will come back in no time at all,”

And at that moment, the second door opened to reveal the middle-aged secretary, “Everything is ready Sir,”

“Ladies first,” Carter Cushing said, lifting his arm, signaling the way. Amelia made a courtesy with her head and walked forward. Sir Thomas walked beside the old investor and couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine when he was once again assessed with a stone cold stare.

If Thomas Sharpe ever thought that would be the last today’s oddities… he was about to be once more mistaken.

 

The room was large, round and as stern as its owner. A hollow round table lay in the middle and a small square table was set on the empty center. Around it were multiple chairs, all of them already with some people… important people. Thomas steeled himself to greet the distrustful and faces and closed-up expressions, but it all changed too fast to register. Smiles, shouts, and claps echoed around the room. They all stood, some at the same time some even walked around the large wooden table and walked to the center. He stood still, but the old rich men weren’t walking in his direction. His eyes followed some of them to notice the center of that warm welcome was indeed the young Miss Cushing.

Amelia smiled and hugged and kissed cheeks and greeted politely. Some greetings were lively, some answers were longer. Thomas Sharpe came to the conclusion the woman hadn’t been around Buffalo for a long time. A little vile rose on his stomach, it wasn’t a good sign –business oriented –to be so blatantly ignored. His frown turned to the source of the chaos, only to wrong him yet again.

She wasn’t at ease… that simple of a conclusion he could reach easily. She smiled and greeted and sometimes mimicked the emotion and joyfulness of the greetings, but it was not genuine… not as genuine as that amusing expression of outrage; not as genuine as that strong laugh, that so unladylike laugh that involuntarily left her lips and boomed around the whole building, that show of pure happiness he could still feel himself envying.

“… and I’m proud to present her as our new inversionist,” Carter Cushing said, his chest rising in clear pride. Silence was soon made, only for agreements and acclamations to bloom again. Thomas Sharpe was at a loss, things of this nature didn’t happen in England… some corner of his mind worked fast to assure him that nowhere else on the world either. He studied the faces of the investors with more attention. Some of them were genuinely pleased, some showed begrudging acceptance… the most silent responses were surely for those who have their reserves of admitting a woman –and a young one – in such an unlikely circle, but said nothing to the real owner of the enterprise. Indeed, Thomas assured himself, there wouldn't be any other way for this to happen.  

He gave one last look to the young woman in person and she looked surprised, nervous… exited. His lips twitched. Something told him that if someone were to be in the middle of such occurrence would have to be Amelia Cushing and probably the only person aside from her could be his sister.

That last thought gave him the courage he needed to step forward and start greeting the investors one by one personally.

 

~*~*~

 

 

“The Sharpe Clay mines have been royal purveyors of the purest Scarlet Clay  since 1796,”

 

The young Baronet said while turning to show what looked like a wooden box. It was hardly the size of a jewel box and Amelia looked in open curiosity when she saw blood red inside. Clay as red as blood. The young man gave the box to Amelia’s father and turned to take another thing. Amelia had to contain herself to not jump her father and steal the box of blood from his hands. With a little smile, the old man gave her the small coffin and the young woman didn’t think it twice before dipping her fingers into the bloody looking square. They bended on the flat surface and Amelia frowned confused, she used her nail to scratch it and only part of it as sand would come off.

“It’s already been backed, the color stayed the same,” her father whispered and she formed an ‘Oh’ with her lips before passing the wooden box to the man beside her.

“….that it can produce the strongest bricks and tiles,” The young aristocrat had kept speaking; he had not a crystal jar that attracted Amelia even more. It was like red pain was stored inside. However –and to her dismay –he had started in the other direction. “Excessive mining in the last 20 years has caused most of our old deposits to collapse,”

 

“This is a Clay harvester of my own design… It transports the Clay upwards as it digs deep,” opening the large suitcase that he had brought with him, a little machine saw the light. Amelia squinted her eyes, trying to look more closely. It was manufactured by parts of a sewing machine. There was a chained band and some kind of tube in vertical position… and at the right end of it there was a miniature boiler with a chimney and everything. Amelia’s lips formed a more open smile, and she almost gasped when the young aristocrat turned it on.

 

She had never seen something similar, and she loved it.   

 

“I have absolutely no doubt this machine will revolutionize Clay mining as we know it-“

“Turn it off, please” the voice of her father turned Amelia back to reality. The old man wasn’t looking at her, but behind him. Amelia followed his gaze and met chocolate brown eyes. Edith gave an unsure glance to her sister when their father turned around and stood to walk on the center of the room. The little machine has already been turned off and now Sir Thomas stood, facing the old investor.  “Have you tested it? Full-scale?”

“Not yet, Sir. We're very close. But we hope that with funding...”

“So actually, what you have is a toy and some fancy words,” the old man said, lifting a stack of papers, the project surely. Sir Thomas Sharpe lifted his gaze to Edith and Edith looked down meekly. Amelia saw all that and frowned, she understood… perfectly.

“Mr. Cushing, I...”

“You've already tried and failed to raise capital in London, Edinburgh, Milan...” he continued, going back to where Amelia was, but he refused to sit.

“Yes, that's correct, Sir,” he didn’t sound so sure any longer. Edith gave another apprehensive look at her sister, asking with her eyes what she couldn’t say out loud. Amelia berated herself, for she did the same thing to the young man as they went up the stairs, but forgot that her father was as protective as her… if not more vicious. Amelia shook her head adamantly, her gaze gone harsh. Edith understood and nodded, silently walking away the same way she entered.

 

“Mr. Shape look at the people on this table,” He signaled around him “All of us have earned their place here, even my daughter. We’ve all worked hard to be here… Well, maybe not all of us. Mr. Ferguson here is a lawyer,” he joked, the old man laughed too, “I remember I started as a steel worker, raising buildings before I could own them. My hands, feel them,” he said takin the hands of the young man on his, “Rough… The reflection of who I am. Now, you, Sir, when I shook your hand... you've got the softest hands I've ever felt. In America we bank on effort, not privilege,”

He let go of those said soft hands with disdain and walked back to the door. Thomas Sharpe looked down and Amelia couldn’t even look at him. Edith was long gone.

 

“That is how we built this country,”

 

“I'm here with all that I possess, Sir.” Sir Thomas had said, his posture again solemn and straight, he walked forward to stand close to Mr. Cushing. “A name, a patch of land, and the will to make it yield,” the old man looked surprised but said nothing, “The least that you can Grant me is the courtesy of your time and the chance to prove to you and these fine gentlemen that my will, dear Sir, is at the very least as strong as yours,”

 

It would be only moments and Sir Thomas Sharpe would be gone. None other voice was raised and the consensus seemed clear. Amelia looked down, unsure why she felt so conflicted. Her gaze landed on her also soft hands and she couldn’t help but pass her digits around them. Her father told them about the hard work they all have done… and included her among them. But what has she ever done apart from learning? It has been years, sure… but she would never be as accomplished as the men around her. They were also giving her a chance to prove her worth… she was nowhere near the same position to say she had earned her place and yet her father said she did. But it was not accurate, it was not fair.

 

 

 

She stood up and the chair rattled behind her. The heads of the men around her, including her father and Sir Thomas turned to her. She took a deep breath.

“I think… father, that you have truth in your words.” She began, turning around the table to reach the center, “ Sir Thomas has come here with nothing but a dream and a heritage that came from his… privilege.” She turned to look at the young man for a moment before running her gaze around the room. “But that’s only one perspective, a look on a life not our own… but that is still true, of course. However, I think I have taken a different look…

“And tell me Amelia… what have you seen that I haven’t,” his father said, standing straight. It was a challenge. Amelia raised her neck to appear taller… and she kept walking.

“What I see is a man with an ingenuous solution to a problem that was given to him by that same heritage,”

“What is his real problem in your perspective then, daughter?” Mr. Cushing said, incredulous. Some old gentlemen murmured around.

“Debt,” she said, turning to her father with a matter of fact look, “A debt not his own, and a collapsed mine that otherwise is useless,”

 

 

Silence was made… and for some minutes the old men looked at each other. The condescending smile on Carter Cushing’s face was gone, leaving behind the expression of a conflicted man. Amelia knew his father hated to lose, but that he could also see reason… he was a fair man. Amelia turned to Sir Thomas Sharpe, whose somber and closed-up expression was changed by impassiveness. If Amelia didn’t know any better she would say that he was hurt and therefore resigned, regardless of how strong he had said his will was.

“Sir Thomas, Could you please turn on your scale model one more time?”

“Amelia, we have already seen how it works.” Her father intervened with an even larger frown.

“There are some things that I couldn’t fully comprehend and I have a couple of questions that depend on them. Mr. Sharpe has still 30 minutes that by norm belong to him still,” after a couple for seconds her father nodded, and the serious expression on the woman’s face lightened up a fraction. “Please…. Mr. Sharpe,”

The young man moved reluctantly to turn it on, and the little machine started working. Amelia walked over to it and bent down, looking at the little pedals work tirelessly in a constant movement. She straightened then, and brown eyes met blue ones. She took another breath.

“Mr. Sharpe… If I understand correctly, this mechanic band lifts the clay on some kind of containers,” she looked at him, expectant.

“…That is correct. Yes, Miss Cushing,” he said after a small pause. He frowned. Amelia proceeded.

“Do you know the dimensions of each cart… Mr. Sharpe?”

“The… dimensions?”

“The size… to be precise I wish to know how much pounds or liters each cart can carry”

“It’s… ” he said. Despite the initial reluctance, he moved to answer “they are prism shaped, each side the same… that would be 1’6 feet,”

“That’s around half a meter, isn’t it… Mr. Hafford?”

“Indeed… Miss Amelia we are all curious of how this could change our minds?” the accountant answered. Some men hummed in amusement, but the young woman wasn’t deterred in any way. She smiled wickedly to the man.

“It surely will, but first… let’s do some mathematics. Would you help me?” the gentleman huffed and with a ‘why not?’ he started scribbling on a piece of sheet. Amelia paced around the room, making her own calculations. “Mr. Hafford, correct me if I’m wrong… but the volume is around… 60 liters?”

“62.5… Miss Cushing.” The young woman smiled and turned her attention to the machine. “So please… Mr. Sharpe, your machine is on an approximate scale of 1/50?... How many carts could there be?... twenty?”

“Approximatively… that is correct,” the young man answered.

“So… gentlemen, let’s just imagine how much is that. Up to 120 liters of clay are being pumped up by the machine in, let’s say…” Amelia made a little grimace, opening her arms, pondering the time. “5 minutes, if we imagine the time can also obey the scale,”

“Sir Thomas has said the machine is not complete… my pigeon,”

“Yes, father but let’s assume for a moment it does work,” she turned to him for a moment and then to the other men “we would have 120 liters of liquid clay every 5 to 10 minutes. That is 700 liters in an hour. This machine is capable of fill a mine cart to its full capacity in an hour and doesn’t even need to transport it to the surface,”

 

Silence was made once again, the older men looked at Amelia expectant. Mr. Rochester moved forward with clear interest. Amelia smirked. “Mr. Sharpe, the technology that you have invented has the basic purpose of transporting ore…. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes, its main objective is to transport the clay to the surface faster and safer,” he added, looking more in control of the situation.

“Then… could this technology be adapted to something heavier like… a gold mine?” Amelia remained impassive and Mr. Sharpe was at that moment giving his back to her father… so he couldn’t see the little smile that formed in his lips.

“Indeed, with the right changes it could,” some murmurs were heard from the side of Mr. Rochester.

“And… what about something different than mining. Could the machine be adapted to transport and lift great quantities of bricks and other construction material?” she turned to her father and she noted to her satisfaction that her father scratched his chin… he appeared to be in deep thought.

“It could be done,”

“Gentlemen, I know many –if not all –of you are happily married… and you must be familiar with the popular belief that a woman always recognizes a good bargain when she sees one,” some laughs erupted once more and Amelia smiled openly. “This morning Sir Thomas brought us an interesting proposal… and now I offer you all a deal that will make it a good bargain,” Expectant faces looked at her and Amelia limited herself to continue “as my father said, the machine is not finished. But not because of that we are going to ignore its potential. Therefore the issue at hand lies in making the machine to work… I propose you, gentlemen, for me to invest in the construction and completion of this clay harvester and then…. If our little experiment relates to a full-scale test, I’ll come back to you so that you can all invest in something safe and bigger,” she turned to her father then, his expression more surprised than somber “You have nothing to lose and all to win. Would you invest in this project if Mr. Sharpe and I personally bring you this machine fully operating?”

 

The first hand that rose was –without much surprise –the one of Mr. Rochester, owner of a mining company and a railroad on the way. It was followed by Mr. Hafford who gave a little nod of approval, the calculations revised and finished under his hand. Amelia’s smile returned when Mr. Ferguson lifted his hand… his face a combination of amusement and disbelieve. After them… many hands rose and Amelia looked around her with a new kind of excitement. Her eyes landed on the machine and then on its owner… he was looking as excited as her. At that moment a rattle was heard and she looked to the side; her father had gotten up and was walking to them. He sighed when he reached his daughter.

“I fear I have created a monster,” he said in a low tone and Amelia beamed “It is settled then, I hope you bring us good news Amelia,” he turned to Mr. Sharpe “Mr. Sharpe,” he said extending his hand.

“Mr. Cushing,” The young Baronet shook the hand and Amelia winced slightly when she noticed her father’s grip strengthen. Sir Thomas Sharpe didn’t show discomfort… however. “I’ll wait for you at my office to discuss the contract and the details… Johanne, please be kind to accompany Mr. Sharpe,” he turned to his daughter, a hand on the small of her back and with a stern look, he guided the young woman back to her seat. She spared a look at the retreating form of the Baronet and when their eyes met he made a small courtesy and walked away.

 

Amelia sat down and the murmurs started, one of the investors… Mr. Hughes that was on her right complimented her on the clever speech and she thanked half focused. Her mind started to recollect the whole debate on her mind and she frowned… suddenly unsure of how to explain what just happened. A relatively long beard scraped her shoulder and she could hear her father whispering.

“We’ll talk about this… I hope you know what you are doing my pigeon,”

 

Indeed, she hoped that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with a crazy idea and a long chapter. 
> 
> Like it or hate it, I'd love to know your opinion. 
> 
> See you soon.


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